


All Tucked In

by SlimReaper



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, Drift to the rescue, First Kiss, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mutual Pining, Ratchet's just way too tired for life right now, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, dratchet - Freeform, iopele
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 23:39:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13669704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlimReaper/pseuds/SlimReaper
Summary: Ratchet overworks. Drift makes him go to bed. Ratchet sleeps.... well. Eventually.





	All Tucked In

**Author's Note:**

> Celebratory Dratchet cuz I got a new job!

It wasn’t the first time Drift had nag-forced Ratchet out of the medbay before the medic collapsed from lack of recharge, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. Even Ratchet’s complaints and grumbling were very nearly rote by now. Drift thought about offering to take over the bitching so Ratchet could save energy, but that likely wouldn’t go over too well, so he just swallowed his grin and shrugged and nodded in the right places and continued pulling Ratchet into his habsuite toward his berth.

“You really don’t have to tuck me in, you know,” Ratchet said, but he wasn’t dragging his feet quite as much as he usually did when Drift did this. He must've really been exhausted. “I can find my berth on my own.”

“All evidence to the contrary,” Drift shot back, giving him a wicked grin that probably showed his fangs… all right, it definitely showed his fangs, but with Ratchet, he needed all the intimidation help he could get.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ratchet grumbled, optics locked to that smile, and Drift couldn’t help ‘accidentally’ flicking the tip of his glossa over a fang just to see what kind of reaction he could get. The way Ratchet’s optics widened, just for a split second, and how he quickly looked over at the berth as though unable to meet Drift’s gaze, was even better than he’d hoped for.

Of course nothing would ever come of his little flirtation, but teasing Ratchet was fun, nonetheless.

And then they were beside the berth and Drift was pushing him down to sit on the edge. “Ratchet, I’d like for you to meet your berth,” he said formally, still grinning when the medic glared at him. “This piece of furniture is used for recharging, which is a very important process that allows your systems to defrag and recalibrate. Also, certain other extracurricular activities are commonly performed here--”

“You think I don’t know what to do in a berth?” Ratchet growled as Drift leaned down to help lift his legs in. “I might know more than you think, smart-aft.”

And Ratchet’s hands clamped onto his arms and _pulled_ and the speedster found himself tumbling down onto the berth after him. Drift’s optics widened at the sudden wave of _intent_ filling Ratchet’s field, something that had never happened during any of the last hundred times Drift had put him to berth, and said, “Ratch--?”

“Tell me no,” Ratchet said, low and rough as he rolled to half-pin Drift to the berth, all the signs of his fatigue somehow having evaporated like they had never been. Before Drift could find any reaction other than to instinctively grab his shoulders in astonishment, Ratchet’s lips were on his, hot and hungry and _glorious._

Everything in Drift’s processor exploded in shock but his lips recovered faster than the rest of him and parted immediately to allow Ratchet to deepen the kiss. He wasted no time doing so and Drift whimpered when Ratchet’s glossa met his, then traced that same fang he'd licked just moments ago before returning to play again, sending shivers down his spinal strut. Ratchet's words echoed in Drift’s processor, a response to his unintentional challenge, _You think I don’t know what to do in a berth?_ Oh, Ratchet  _clearly_  knew what to do, though Drift wouldn't mind if he kept on proving it all night. This was completely unexpected, _hot as all frag,_ but unfortunately it was over all too soon.

... or maybe not, because when Ratchet broke the kiss, he didn't go far.

“Tell me to stop, I’ll stop,” Ratchet whispered, lips still brushing Drift’s with every word. His arms didn’t loosen at all and his vents were going just as fast as Drift’s, and Drift finally found his voice.

“Why would I do that?” he replied, voice far steadier than he felt; slid both arms up to wrap around Ratchet’s neck and closed the tiny distance between their lips himself.

Ratchet groaned as his weight fell fully against Drift, _perfection_ , pinning him down as the medic kissed him again, even hungrier than before and nowhere near as short-lived. Drift moaned and surrendered to it utterly, shuddering down to his pedes when one of those wonderful hands moved in a long caress that started at his shoulder and traced a slow, meandering path all the way down to his hip. He retaliated by letting his own hands explore Ratchet’s broad backplates, fingertips hooking along seams and pulling him in even tighter as their engines revved together.

But only a few minutes passed before Ratchet pulled back again, venting hot and shaking with desire for all that his field remained hesitant and uncertain. “Drift, are you sure about this?” he whispered, reaching up now to cup Drift’s cheek in one trembling hand, optics searching his almost desperately. What had perhaps started as a joke had clearly become something much more. “I don’t want to rush you into anyth--”

Drift wrapped a leg around him and rocked his hips, rubbing their panels together in a slow, sexy grind that quite effectively erased Ratchet's voice in a burst of static. “Does anything about what I’m doing right now seem _unsure_ to you?” he moaned, doing it again and not even trying to hide the rush of _arousal_ and _need_ and _pleasure_ in his field. “I’ve wanted this for what feels like forever, Ratch, you missed your chance to _rush me_ a few million years ago--”

Ratchet gripped his hip tight, and for an instant Drift worried he’d gone too far, said too much, but Ratchet didn’t stop his rocking. Instead he shifted, aligning their hips better, pressing into the grind with him at a new angle, and Drift arched beneath him as his optics nearly fritzed with how good it felt. “Then if you won’t tell me no,” Ratchet murmured in his audial, low and staticked and so sexy Drift feared his spark might go supernova, “will you tell me yes?”

 _“Yes,”_ Drift gasped immediately, voice and frame and field together, the word emerging rough with desire and centuries of longing and praying with everything in him for this not to be a dream. “Yes, Ratchet, yes, yes, _yes--”_

His words died against Ratchet’s lips and the wave of _need_ pouring into the medic’s field stole the air from his vents. Ratchet kissed him deeply, almost desperately, hands moving over his frame and hips still rocking in perfect counterpoint, and Drift was drowning in it and never, _ever_ wanted to surface. He brought his other leg around Ratchet’s waist, hooked his ankles to lock them together, hands roaming freely now, kissing Ratchet back with all the passion he’d spent so many endless years trying to deny and hide, and every gasp or moan or curse that fell from Ratchet’s lips was music to him.

And every time their lips parted, even for an instant, Drift gasped out, “Yes,” and “Please,” and _“Ratchet,”_ again and again, even when his vocalizer fritzed and the words came out drenched in static. Even then, when the words were barely understandable, Ratchet shuddered at every one, bit his throat or squeezed his aft, mouth everywhere, hands all over him, exploring his plating like he’d die if he didn’t touch every single part of him, caress him everywhere and stake his claim.

Drift didn’t know whose panel retracted first. Honestly he couldn’t be bothered to care because all that mattered was the heat of Ratchet’s spike pressurizing against his thigh as one of those incredible, Primus-blessed hands cupped his valve and slipped a single finger inside, making them both groan with bliss. “Oh Drift, you’re so beautiful, you feel so amazing,” Ratchet sighed, forehelm resting against his, finger dipping in and out, in and out, stealing any words he might’ve tried to say in reply. “So soft… so wet… so _hot…”_

It felt like forever before Drift’s vocalizer could produce anything but moans and cries and gasps, Ratchet’s field blazing as he drank in his pleasure. _“Please,”_ Drift finally managed after one finger had become two and two became three. “Please, Ratchet, please, please…”

“Yes,” Ratchet breathed, and Drift whined when his fingers left only to _keen_ when Ratchet’s spike took their place, thick and hot and _perfect,_ sinking slowly into him as they both trembled, both gasped when he finally bottomed out. Ratchet stopped there for a moment, giving Drift time to adjust to the fullness, the perfect girth of him stretching his valve just right, and then drew back just as slowly, moaning as Drift’s calipers clenched around his retreating length, trying to draw him back inside.

And then he thrust again, and all Drift could do was hold on tight for the ride of his life.

Each thrust rocked pleasure through him, the ridges of Ratchet’s spike activating internal nodes with every movement and it felt so good, _so good_ that he couldn’t help himself and cried out again and again, Drift never made noise like this during interface but he couldn’t stop his vocalizer from running now, an endless stream of praise and cries and pleading and Ratchet groaned deep as his heavy engine revved and he thrust faster, growled, “Oh yes, Drift, _sing for me,”_ as he upped the pace, charge building, leaping from node to node, so much better than anything he’d ever felt before, so much better than anything he’d ever even _dreamed,_ too much, never enough--

Drift overloaded with a cry that was very nearly a scream, frame shaking hard, electricity racing over his plating and triggering Ratchet’s climax, sending a new wave of charge through his valve and extending his overload further, until at last the pleasure finally released them both and they collapsed into each other, exhausted and clinging.

It took a long time for their vents to begin to slow, and even though it didn’t help that Ratchet didn’t move from his position atop Drift, spike still inside him, holding him tight and blocking his vents, there was no way in Pit Drift was going to complain about that. Vents be damned, he’d maintain this connection forever if he had his way, stay just like this until the heat-death of the universe.

But all too soon, Ratchet lifted his head and looked down at him. Drift met his optics, intending to grin and make a comment about how he'd been wrong and Ratchet _definitely_ knew what to do in a berth, but the teasing words died unspoken. He blinked, stunned, hand slowly lifting to gently touch the tear stains on the medic’s cheek. “Ratchet?” he whispered, cupping his face in both hands now, the most precious thing in his universe, thumbs so carefully wiping the tears away. “You all right?”

Ratchet closed his optics, turned his face to press a kiss first into one palm, and then into the other, then to Drift’s lips, before finally meeting his gaze again. “I love you,” he said softly, corner of his mouth quirking in just a hint of his normal sardonic grin when Drift gasped. “I know it’s the worst kind of trashy-romance cliché to say that right after ‘facing, but I swear it's not the afterglow talking. I’ve been waiting to tell you that for so long and crappy timing or not, I can’t wait any longer. So, yeah. I love you.”

Drift’s spark surged in its chamber and he couldn’t even guess what his field was doing--everything in him was a riot of _astonishment_ and _wonder_ and _elation_ and damn near every emotion he could ever remember feeling in his life, all at once. “I love you too, Ratch--it feels like I’ve loved you forever,” he whispered, and then gasped all over again at the explosion of _awe/relief/JOY_ in Ratchet’s field, and maybe that’s what this feeling was, this overwhelming mix of emotions that made him want to laugh and cry and cling and dance all at the same time.

_Joy._

Drift had never felt anything like it before but he’d never forget what this moment felt like for as long as he lived.

And when Ratchet smiled, _truly_ smiled, his entire face lighting up with happiness; when Ratchet kissed him again, somehow simultaneously sweet and passionate; when tears fell on Drift’s cheeks once more, he didn’t care whose they were.

“Stay,” Ratchet whispered when their lips parted, pressing their forehelms together, still holding him tight. His fatigue, forgotten while they made love, was clearly rushing back now, coloring his field with exhaustion and worry. “Please stay.”

Drift kissed him once more and then pulled Ratchet's helm down to rest on his chestplate, right over his spark. “Can’t get rid of me that easy. Get some rest, sweetspark,” he said, stroking his helm, his back--soothing now, not trying to arouse. How could Ratchet think anything in the universe could make Drift leave now and miss out on the chance to hold him while he slept? “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

The _worry_ evaporated from his field immediately. Ratchet’s optics closed and his frame went limp, exhaustion finally taking over. “Don’t wanna get rid of you. Dunno why I ever fought letting you tuck me in,” the medic murmured, clearly already half-asleep, field settling down to soft slow waves of _safe_ and _happy_ and _comfortable._ “Should’ve just done this. Gonna drag you into berth with me every time from now on, frag you senseless, make you stay.”

Drift chuckled. “Anytime, Ratchet. Anytime.”


End file.
